Angel of Dance
by la chiede il tuo cor
Summary: Meg phic, because she's so underwritten. Follows Meg's life in the Opera; may become EC and RC in the future. Elements taken from ALW, Kay and Leroux.


Meg phic, because she's underwritten. If there will be any romance, it will be EC and RC; there will be no EM.

I sat at the piano, my hands clumsily moving across the slow movement of a Mozart concerto. I was never a pianistic virtuoso, really; I'm more than a decent singer but there is really no need for altos in the opera world. It doesn't matter, though; my talent lies in dance… And even if it didn't, my mother would ensure that I was- at the very least- proficient.

Not to sound narcissistic, but as a dancer… I'm _far_ more than proficient.

I stopped playing and glanced at the pocket watch that I'd propped on the piano. The watch once belonged to my late father, I am told, but it doesn't really matter to me as I've never met the man and- somewhat obviously- never will.

No matter; if I stayed in the rehearsal room any longer, I'd be late for rehearsal, Maman would have my head, and Christine Daae would be completely without help.

I left the watch and my books- no one would take them, as rare as it was that this particularly small room was used. Besides by a fourteen-year-old brunette dancer, that is.

I was already in my costume for _Infidèle,_ and so was able to scurry straight to the stage, and from there to the side of a rather dazed Christine Daae.

Christine is almost exactly a year my senior, and even at the young age of fifteen, she was beautiful. Her dramatic brown curls reached her waist and shimmered with hidden auburn glints, and her blue eyes were tinted with pale green. Her skin was pale- moreso, even, than my own; I hadn't really been out in the sun since the season started nine months prior to this day in late April.

However, Christine's dancing is… less than stellar.

"Meg, thank God, you're here! I wanted to know if you'd go over the discovery scene- you know the bit…"

And so I did. The _discovery_ scene, as Christine had put it, was what we'd been working on for the last three days or so, and involved quite a complicated bit of dancing for Christine.

I knew that Christine hoped to someday make a name for herself playing breech roles, but she was still a touch too young, and was left over playing such roles as the young maid Despina in _Infidèle_- a small singing part, but a significant dancing role.

A role that I had wanted, actually, but could never have due to the fact that about half of Despina's big- only- aria was out of my range.

But never mind that.

I nodded simply and pulled her into a corner, going over her dance quickly and quietly before my cue came.

I was playing the role of the Countess's Head Maid's Sister's Illegitimate Daughter who appears to have no name save for the aforementioned title. My role was silent, minus a brief recitative exchange with Despina and Adele, another maid, played by little Cecile Jammes.

I tried not to let it bother me, however, as my role has a few very elaborate dancing scenes- more elaborate than anything that Despina gets, in any case. Knowing this made my character (or, rather, lack thereof) easier to bear. Dancing is, after all, my true talent.

Making my entrance, I darted nimbly over to la Carlotta, mimed offering her a tea tray, listened to a page of unintelligible overly-vibrated trills (such a fine instrument she had- this, I knew- but it was suited for one role, really. Carmen), mimed taking the tea tray back, and darted back into a poorly-lit corner with Jammes while Christine made her entrance.

As bitter as I might have been over the fact that Christine had snagged the role of Despina, I was still entirely devoted to her, and had my fingers crossed as she went into her routine. If she didn't fall flat on her face, Maman would be less likely to yell at her; if Maman didn't yell, Christine would be more likely to be allowed to progress to her aria; if Christine would progress to her aria, she would be allowed to shine- our contracts were to be renewed within the next three weeks, and any help is good help.

Plus, Christine's pure, soft voice was always a welcome change from Carlotta's spinto-over-vibrated-mess.

Of course.

Rehearsals ended at half-past four today, but Maman wanted to hold a "short" (so I'm sure) rehearsal with the younger members of the Corps de Ballet- that is, everybody younger than Cecile.

I've always gotten on rather well with Cecile- as well as a fourteen-year-old can get on with a ten-year-old, and so I was not entirely surprised to see her come scurrying after me as I sat in a corner, stretching and unlacing my Pointe shoes simultaneously.

"Meg?"

I smiled warmly. "Cecile. You did well today."

She blushed- she always does, when addressed by an older member of the Corps- and twirled the gold ring inset with several small emeralds that she always wore on her thumb. As she did so, I noticed that she held a folded and sealed sheet of paper.

"Thank you." She saw my gaze drop to the letter, and held it out to me. "Your mother asked me to give this to you- she said that you'd know where to take it."

It was unaddressed which meant that it could only go to one person- Erik. My smile felt more than slightly forced, but I nodded simply and took the letter, sliding my thumb across the seal. "Many thanks, Cecile."

"Oh, and Meg?"

"Yes?" I turned back to look at her, my shoes already over one shoulder as I set off in my haste.

"Christine wants to know if you'd meet her in her practice room- you know the one; the one next to the one you like to use- in about an hour."

I felt my lips purse. In all honesty, it would likely take me forty-five minutes simply to get down to the fifth cellar and back without stopping, and one never visited Erik without stopping to speak with him. "Tell her that I'll meet her a little past six, will you?"

She smiled, all sunshine, and nodded. I quickly ran to the Opera's front doors, out, and around to the Rue Scribe entrance. I knew that there were more ways into Erik's home than this, but Erik had told Maman that this was the safest.

After seven years at the Opera, I trust Erik's word.

It wasn't often that Maman asked me to deliver messages to Erik in her stead, but I never minded; Erik was more than civil to me- more than I can say for most gentlemen about the Opera- and had a mind unequaled in any that I'd ever met. All that I could quantify about him was the fact that his intellect far outdid that of any other acquaintance of mine.

I was not out of breath when I reached his house, though a light sheen of sweat coated the space between my shoulder blades. I was sure that I had made sufficient noise on my way down- I knew that, unless he happened to be composing, he would have heard me and would have come to greet me at the end of the passage.

And so, he did; I turned the last corner to see the glare of a lantern held a bit higher than the level of my eyes.

"Hello, Erik."

"Marguerite." Only he ever used my given name, and then, he only used it at the beginning of our conversations.

"I have a letter for you."

"Thank you for your troubles… Would you care to come in?" I stepped closer and his mask- black satin that covered his entire head- came into view. Maman had once told me that underneath this _hood_, he wore a separate mask- one made of porcelain that covered only the right side of his face. I did not know for myself, as I had never seen him sans hood, and I had never seen fit to ask him.

Nodding, he offered me his arm and I- feeling quite the lady- slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow. He led me to his door, and we stepped carefully over the threshold.

"Tea?"

I let go of his arm as he closed the door behind us. "Yes, please." He gestured to a seat in the sitting room and proceeded towards his kitchen. "Unless… Do you have something besides that Russian stuff?"

I could hear him chuckling. "I'm sure that I can come up with something."

He was back moments later carrying two steaming mugs; from the smell, one was chamomile and one was his peculiar Russian blend. I took mine, thanking him properly.

"Did your mother want a direct reply on this letter?"

I gave my usual graceful shrug. "I don't know; it was delivered to me via little Jammes.

He inclined his head towards me- I knew that he was giving me a calculating look, just from the way that he held himself- and reached into his pocket, sliding the letter out. "Do you mind?" He asked, indicating the seal and my presence. I shook my head, and he opened the letter, scanning the contents. "Nothing pressingly urgent, I assure you," he said simply, refolding the letter and placing it on a nearby table.

I smiled. "Were you watching today, during Infidèle?"

A slight turn of his head, first to the left and then to the right. "I was not. I did, however, see you yesterday. How did you feel today?"

"I know my part well enough, though the little bit of singing that I have to do is written for a mezzo."

"I trust that your dancing is coming well?"

"As always." He chuckled again at this.

"Do you wish to work through your bit of the libretto?"

I weighed the consequences. Certainly, I needed his help; that didn't change the fact that in all things musical, he intimidated me. Greatly. I tilted my head to the right before nodding.

"Very well." He rose and offered me a hand to help me out of my seat. In truth, his hands bothered me slightly, but Maman had taught me a requisite amount of delicacy before sending me down to Erik; of course, I was more than able to recall this.

As he led me to the music room, I turned to glance at him. "I can't stay but a few minutes."

He inclined his head slightly. "A few minutes is all that we will need, provided that you come down a few more times prior to your opening."

"Thank you."

He said nothing more as he lifted the lid of the grand piano that sat length-wise along the back wall. Once seated, he turned to me; I had situated myself in the crook of the piano. "Need you warm up, or are you still fresh from rehearsal?"

"I should be fine."

"Very well." He played a few chords for memory and launched into Adele's first line in the recitative section- an octave lower.

And then, my entrance: "It is true! I have seen him. Cherubino is no maiden."

He glanced up at me. "Naturally, your voice is ill-suited to this role. However, were you to open your mouth- not wider," he said in response to me effort. "Drop your jaw. Completely. Now, try the line again…" I did. "Better. Concentrate on your vibrato- _bino_- it's an e flat; you shouldn't have to slide into it. Again."

We continued through the rest of the scene until each of my five lines met his approval. On my way out, I caught sight of a clock on the sitting-room wall. I had missed my meeting with Christine by an entire hour.


End file.
